Evanesco
by BlessedHope
Summary: "Where do vanished objects go?" A search for the nonbeing - the discovery of what it means to exist?


**"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."**

 ** _-Seneca-_**

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Taking a deep breath in, and an equally baffled exhale, a sense of peace fell over the mind of the reclining young man. Peace and quiet had been a rare commodity in the months previous, and to have it in possession for several breaths was shocking. Thus the measured deep breaths.

Blinking against the encompassing darkness, bright green eyes surveyed the hall that he found himself positioned in rather uncomfortably. Shifting, he waited as his eyes adjusted. It was odd, he didn't recall falling asleep in a hall the prior evening. In fact, he distinctly remembered the snow preventing him from falling asleep very quickly. The full moon had at least provided light for the camp, if nothing else had. It had been a cold winter, and the vast amount of snow that had fallen the past few weeks made it difficult to keep everyone alive and well. Or, at least as well as possible. A rather loose term to use, really.

"Ron? Are you awake?" His quiet inquiry cut through the silence like a shot, and the lack of reply made him tense. They had both become light sleepers, never knowing when the death eaters might locate their latest hideout. Glancing sharply around, green eyes widened.

The hall, looking exactly as the great hall at Hogwarts once had, stood whole. That alone was eerie, as he could not recall the last time he had seen a building without at least one wall falling down, letting in cold air. This building did not even have a breeze running through it, and the still air did not fail to add another level of tension to his now rigid frame.

He stood quickly and began to walk to the front of the hall. Keeping his ears open, he strained for any sign of another occupant. The room remained still, but his mind was racing.

The front of the room contained a row of seating, higher than the rest of the tables occupying the room. There also were banners above said tables, and they sent his mind reeling on a tangent of a different sort.

Frozen, his mind stuttered to a stop, taking in the sheer impossibility of what his eyes were seeing.

Banners holding the images of a lion, badger, eagle, and snake respectively, hung in front of him.

Hearing footsteps echo beyond the door to the great hall, he dove quickly down, peering toward the door as it began to open. The figure of one he thought to have died long ago stood in the doorway, and after a moment of stunned stillness, movement was finally made from the front of the tables toward the door.

The figure in the doorway was looking over him, the Lumos lighting the hall slightly. The shadows cast by the light made for an easier getaway than the figure creeping along the floor could have hoped.

As the shadows moved, so did he, until he was finally able to slip out of the hall. Silent steps increasing the distance between the two figures.

It wasn't until he was a few halls down that a small breath of relief was released. The relief was short lived, as the last few moments replayed. A white beard had glowed in the light, and the face that shone in the dark was unmistakable.

Albus Dumbledore had died early on in the war. No one was quite the same after the leader of the light fell from the astronomy tower. The hope that had thrived seemed to die with the two words spoken by the potions professor. What had stood out in that encounter was not the green light. Rather, it was the deep regret that filled the eyes of the sallow man before the words were spoken. It disappeared in less than a moment, and it might have been passed off as a trick of the light, but it was recognizable. After all, the mirror reflected that same regret every morning.

Running his hands along the rough wall helped grounds his thoughts back to the present. That had taken place years ago, and the impossibility of the situation the raven-haired man found himself in made itself once again known.

Waking up in a building without a stone out of place, seeing the face of a dead man...

Diving within himself, the ball of light that had become so familiar shone strong. A witch or wizard without a magical core was a dead witch or wizard, and to find it holding strong nullified one of his theories. Finding himself once again in the dark hallway, he found himself hoping that a sign of mental manipulation would show itself. Then he would not have to resign himself to the remaining possibility.

Further speculation had to wait, as the soft footfalls of his pursuer began to work their way in his direction.

Finding a door to his right, he worked it open carefully. Leaving just enough room to squeeze through, he found himself in a storage room. Seeing the dark outlines of desks, chairs, and chests, he occupied a corner next to a rather large desk.

Listening for the footsteps, he heard them come up by the door and stop. The old wizard seemed to chant a few words, pause, and open the passage.

The absence of Ron at his side was felt strongly. Not having an extra set of eyes, an extra wand, and a strategic mind at hand… a pang went through his heart. His wand hit his hand, falling from his arm holster.

"Come out if you please, your presence is not hidden. Only your location, I'm afraid." The voice was exactly the same as memory supplied. It lacked the warmth of familiarity, but it was the same soft intonation. Despite the lack of volume, it pierced the ears with the strength of a scream.

Giving himself up now would negate the point of his earlier escape, but it might have been lost the moment he cornered himself. The familiarity of the face must have deprived him of his senses, the only logical explanation. Kicking himself, he stubbornly remained quiet.

Dumbledore flicked his wand, and the candles lining the walls lit. The room now illuminated, the blue eyes scanned quickly. Finally settling on the figure crouching in the corner, the white brows furrowed in confusion.

"Harry?" Dumbledore looks disbelieving, and for good reason. The lack of white fog means there is no mental manipulation currently taking place. This is not a hallucination, and nothing has come for the kill yet. Meaning, the chance of this being concocted by the death eaters is spectacularly low. They would not have the patience, and even if they did, manufacturing a Dumbledore with the likeness of the one in this room would be beyond their abilities.

Shifting uneasily, the wand stayed in hand even as the crouching position straightened into a ready stance in case anything went south.

The old wizard's eyes sharpened as he saw the wand, and he muttered a grim "Expelliarmus!" Only to narrow his eyes when it failed.

"I'm afraid my wand has an anti-summoning charm on it. Wouldn't want someone to just disarm me during battle!" The sarcasm was lost on the man, and he only grew colder.

"You are not Harry Potter." The statement, for it was one, surprised the young man.

"Why do you say that? I know I carry a resemblance. Wasn't too surprised when you guessed that, to be honest. Wouldn't be a first." And it wasn't a surprise. The resemblance to James Potter must be astounding since there must only be a few years difference in ages. However, the differences became much more prominent the more one took the time to notice. The build was slightly bulkier than James could claim, and the hair was longer, thus more managed. The color of his eyes, however, they were distinctly Lily. A luminous green, startling in its vibrancy.

What made Dumbledore second guess himself in his first impression was not the many similarities, but the difference found in the hardness occupying the depths of those bright green eyes. That, coupled with the unfamiliar wand, said more about a wizard than familiar appearance. Appearance can be replicated with polyjuice, the condition of a soul, or a wand, could not.

"The Harry Potter that I know is going to be a sixth year this upcoming school year. You do look like him, granted with an aging potion. However, I'm afraid I am a stranger to your eyes. The eyes never lie after all, and yours do not possess that name. What name do you go by lad?" Blue eyes took on a softer tone with these words, while green narrowed.

"You are not wrong, old man. However, I am still uncertain of your name. Best to follow propriety after all, yes?" Inwardly scoffing at the hypocrisy of his own words, he waited for Dumbledore's response. He was not disappointed, as the wary face turned surprised and speculative.

"Apologies of course. My name is Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of this school we find ourselves in at the moment. May I inquire as to how you found yourself here without awareness of who might occupy this castle?"

Grinning, he flicked his wand back into its holster. "Charmed. I go by the name Harrison Pierce." A smile formed, and then quickly turned into a teasing smirk. "As for how I came to be in this castle, well, I can't tell say. I'm as clueless as you are, I'm sorry to say."

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A.N. Well, there we have the first chapter of Evanesco! My goal for future chapter will be a 5k minimum, but I wanted to get this idea out, and hopefully get some feedback on writing style. If anyone wants to see it continue, please review! As we go, I hope to make it much less cliche.

Thank you for reading! R&R!

Hayden


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